The Backstory
by GiLaw
Summary: It was supposed to be the perfect honeymoon. Everything was supposed to look up from here. Until Mike's alternate personalities started showing up again. And when Zoey wants to find the reason why, she slowly starts to learn deep details about her husband's family history she wishes she hadn't asked for. Rated T for now, might change it for M if it gets too mature.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys.**

 **So as you can probably tell by my recent activity on FanFiction, DeviantART and even Twitter, I have been doing a LOT of Zoke shipping lately, and this is a FanFiction I've been planning for quite some time now.**

 **And while I was browsing some fanart, fanfics, all that good stuff, I suddenly thought "Hey, what causes Multiple Personality Disorder anyway?" So I went ahead, looked it up . . . and I have to say, I got some pretty heavy results. Go ahead, look it up yourself, it's pretty damn deep.**

 **So yeah, this idea entered my head as a result and would not leave. This story will probably be a lot more mature then my other fics, less hyperactivity towards the end, certain characters might seem a little more intense, but I want to try and keep this one as realistic as possible. Again, this is all going to be told in Zoey's POV because I think it adds to the tension I hope to get across here, moments of uncertainty, all that good stuff.**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter.**

* * *

 **The Backstory**

 **Chapter 1**

 **The Parents**

 **Sunday, March 27th, 2016**

 **2:57 PM**

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my focus on the passing grey roads and neatly trimmed green bushes and dainty little trees. The people here all looked so perfect, especially the girls. Every girl we passed seemed to have the perfect hourglass figure with slender legs and super flat stomachs. Their outfits were so fashionable, stylish shoulderless crop tops with colourful designs, and tight shorts or jeans with the perfect shoes and accessories to go with them. The girls who wore shorts on them had just the right amount of fake tan on their legs- in fact was it fake? It was so neatly applied, you couldn't tell. And their hair! Nearly every girl we past seemed to have perfect flowing blonde highlights down past their shoulders with no single hair out of place. And while I didn't have enough time to tell, I could see that their makeup was professionally painted on their doll like faces. They were all so attractive, it was kind of ridiculous.

Looking at these perfect "supermodels", I couldn't resist pulling down the mirror above me yet again. Is my makeup okay? I had gone for the "natural look" and seeing it now, I hope it didn't look too plain. My eye shadow might be smudged a little. I rubbed just between my eyelid and my clumsily plucked eyebrow, dusting off any excess golden eye shadow that might look out of place. Should I apply another coat of lipstick? It _does_ look a little faded since I first put it on . . .

No. It looks fine. If I put on too much, it will just look weird on me. And the last thing I need to do is look weird to anyone. My lipstick is fine. Then again, the last girl we passed _had_ been wearing a LOT of dark lipstick that brought out her doll face and fashionable outfit. It suited her . . . would it suit me? No, the dark reddish brown wouldn't go with my hair. I don't think so. No it won't . . . would it?

Actually, how was my hair? I quickly ran my fingers through the red locks, fixing it perfectly into place. It's times like this I wish I hadn't dyed it- if one itty bitty bright red strand was out of place, everyone would notice. I ran my fingers through it again, making sure it flowed perfectly down my shoulders. Ugh, I think it clashes with my outfit. Does the black leather jacket make me look rough? Does it clash with the white frilly dress? Is the dress too short? I gave the lacy skirt a small tug so it just reached my knees, as far as it would go. I think my black tights make the outfit too dark. And these light brown ankle boots _are_ a bit on the bulky side . . .

Am I wearing too much jewellery? The gold hoop earrings, the gold locket that goes down to my chest, the bead bracelet of white, gold and dark brown . . . Does it clash with my ring? Oh God, I have no idea if I'm trying too hard or not and I hate it. I think the ring on my finger is the only real part of my outfit I actually feel comfortable about. Mike claimed it was made of real diamond. While part of me didn't believe him, the romantic side of me just had to play along. Besides, we still had the good part of a million dollars between us that we hadn't really spent yet. The only really "big" things we had brought were our private house and the nice car, and even then, we still had a good lot of it left. I had no idea how diamond rings cost but was always a possibility . . .

Was my hair _really_ alright though? I guess one last check couldn't hurt. I lowered the mirror again and patted down any loose hairs I could see. It had to be exactly right, everything had to be in its exact place, even if it was nitpicking . . .

"Hey, Zoey-"

"Sorry." I clawed my hands for a second then flipped the mirror back up, but not before flicking out my hair one last time. I had no idea if I wanted it to look perfect or perfectly natural. It didn't look too stiffly in place . . . I should have just kept it short so it could fix itself. Or would that make it look scruffy? Oh God, I don't know . . .

"Zoey, you look perfect." Mike was trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead but I could see them sneaking a look at me anyway. I blushed and hunched down in my seat. At least I had foundation on to stop my face going too red . . .

"Yeah, to you," I murmured quietly.

Mike sighed a little, slowing the car down to a halt at a red light. As we waited in an uncertain silence (apart from the humming of the engine), he sat back into his seat before taking the opportunity to look me properly in the face.

"Look, I know I should have introduced my parents to you earlier . . . I'm nervous as well, but-"

"Mike, you've admitted to me before, with your dad especially-"

"Just . . ." He raised a hand, scrunching up his eyes a little, immediately shutting me off. I hated it when he did that, when he was obviously thinking of something and I couldn't ask in case I upset him.

Finally he relaxed, letting out another heavy sigh and nodding at me, staring me deep in the eyes now, lips tightened. He looked better, I guess, but I could tell there was still that little bit of uncertainty in him, even if he was trying to hide it.

"Don't think about it. We'll get out there . . . Just be yourself. I'll do all the talking. You don't have to say anything unless my parents ask, okay?"

I honestly don't know. I want to argue and tell him I can tell his parents about myself . . . but what if that makes me look rude? Who knew that introducing oneself could be so hard? _Why_ is it so hard?

"Zoey?" I suddenly felt a hand on my right shoulder that made me shudder in my seat. I guess that's what happens when you go too deep into thought, you forget about everyone around you, including the guy opposite you who you hope will be your future husband.

He was leaning towards me now, trying to really fix that eye contact onto me. His grip on my shoulder hardened a little.

"I need you to tell me you're okay with this."

I lowered my head so I could keep my eyes away from him. I wanted to agree with him but at the same time, I was so afraid to answer with a simple "yes." I could let him do all the talking alright, but what if he said the wrong thing? Not for me but for him? And how could his parents get to know me if I just stood back and kept my mouth shut?

"Zoey . . ."

"I'm okay." I shook his hand away from my shoulder and looked up a him, finally sealing that eye contact. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Damn it. I said the F word. Not _the_ worst F word, but still the biggest lie a girl could ever tell her man. Now I've really unnerved him. Yeah, he didn't look convinced. At all. He pulled away from me a little, definitely examining me a little closer. I straightened a little and tried to look comfortable in my seat, but it was a bit late for that now.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded quickly, feeling my stomach lurch a little. "I just want to get this over with."

My boyfriend (or was he my fiancé now?) cocked his head a little but reached out with his left hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Hey, it's pretty much my first time seeing them too, in like what, two years? We just need to go in there, say hello, get my dad's permission . . . We'll be alright."

I tried to lower my head but Mike worked his fingers down underneath my chin and tilted it back up so I had to look at him. I'd say something if I knew _what_ to say but my brain seemed to have stopped completely. He worked his hand to the back of my head and gently pushed it towards him. I shut my eyes and let him push me in so he could press his lips on my forehead in an encouraging kiss.

"We'll be alright," he murmured again, patting my back as gently as he could, as the light turned green. Part of me wondered if he was trying to reassure me or himself, but I pulled away anyway so he could start up the car again.

Okay, I can do this. I can do this. He's met my parents many times and they know him well; they know our plans, they know how we feel about each other. I've explained to them the entire story about his Multiple Personality Disorder . . . He's completely overcome it. My mom's a little skeptical about the whole "living with a guy who had a mental disorder", but it's Mike. I've known him much longer than she has, we've been living together for two years and I haven't seen any of his alternate personalities since we finished Total Drama. As long as he's acting normal, my parents should be okay. It can't be much worse with his parents, right?

Wait a second.

"Have you told your parents we're coming?" I asked, turning towards him.

Mike's eyes were glued on the road ahead, but he still pulled a "so-so" kind of face, wavering his head from side to side.

"I texted my mom and told her I'm coming today at 3, and I'm bringing "a friend" along and we're gonna discuss some things . . . You're okay that I didn't name you, right? Just in case-"

"No, you're alright," I replied quickly. "Did she reply?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay . . ." I lowered my eyebrows a little.

His own mother didn't reply, even though he's coming back after two years? A bad sign right there. I can see why he wouldn't name me alright, he was afraid of an overreaction to mentioning me as his girlfriend . . . But how will they react when they _do_ find out it's me? I felt my stomach lurch again and sank into my seat, puffing out my cheeks. All I have to do is be my normal nice self, right? Just be the nice girl I've always been.

I flicked a glance at my ring and waggled the finger wearing it so it shone brightly in the midday sun. It's a fairly nice day, the sun is up there and there's a blue sky, though there are dark thick clouds too, some of which are drifting towards the sun and threatening to block it out. I wonder if that means anything. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.

The car was slowing down now. I realized only now that the suburban greenery had calmed down into more unruly country like surroundings with wilder trees and less housing. The road was still the same, hard and grey, but the separate white lines have all fused into one. I felt the car bump a little on a pothole or two, especially on my side, and my stomach lurched again. We were definitely getting close.

"Okay so we're just there now," Mike muttered a little quieter than usual. He hadn't looked away from the road since that last red light, and neither of his hands had moved away from the wheel. I had never seen him look this focused and I didn't know if I liked it or not. I took another deep breath and dusted off my white skirt. I think it might be crinkled a little but it's too late to do anything about it. The car was getting slower and slower . . . now it was pulling around a corner to the left. And then it stopped completely.

There was the house: just like any other house on the street, perfectly ordinary. It was a two storey semi detached building, with rustic brown bricks on the sides and the rest of it painted white. The door was painted black and outside there was a grey car (or was it a truck?) that had to be at least ten years old, rusty and dirty, with worn out looking dusty wheels. The windows were so smothered in dirt that I couldn't see through them, though I imagined the inside must be little better.

Outside on the pavement, there were some old potted plants that had died ages ago. The house itself though well built and standing well, was a little on the scruffy side. Dust and brown leaves scattered across the drive, pushed by the breeze. A cobweb lay here and there, in little corners of the building that only the most observant would notice. I wanted to look through the windows but my eyes avoided them, knowing that to look through anyone's window would be considered nosey, fiancé's house or not. Was there anyone home? It didn't look like it. It was a nice house and all . . . but I didn't feel invited.

The door next to me suddenly opened and I realized that Mike had already gotten out of the car and had his free hand open, inviting me to get out. I almost jumped again, and I felt so ignorant for not paying attention. But at the same time, my eyes darted towards that house again, and they wanted to take in every little detail they could find.

"Are you-"

"Sorry." I tore my eyes away from the house and hastily took off my seatbelt as he offered me his hand to take so I could climb out with more ease. As soon as I was out in the air, I felt the wind toss my hair out of place and a whoosh up my dress, making me shriek and grab the skirt to keep it down while my left hand tried to keep my hair somewhat neat and tidy. The wind had beat me to it, messing it up altogether and I scrunched up my eyes as I felt little strands of it stick to my lips. I thrust my head a little bit, trying not to spit when I felt Mike's fingertips brush the hair away for me. Even if it was something simple like fixing my hair, the soft touch of his fingertips immediately put me at ease, and I no longer felt that lurch in my stomach that had been bothering me until now.

"There. Perfect." He folded the last strand of hair into place for me and gave me a reassuring smile, to which I had to respond with my own little beam.

"Thanks." I leaned in for a quick peck on the lips to which he went along with and more butterflies in my stomach were released, even if it was just a quick little kiss. As I pulled away, I exhaled out another heavy breath and forced the corners of my lips upwards and again, for some reason, I felt even better. "So stay cool . . . be myself . . ."

"Exactly." Mike nodded and pushed his smile wider. "We're gonna do this, Zoey."

"Yeah." My voice came out in a whisper, but the anticipation was screaming inside of me. Maybe things would work out. Maybe things would resolve between Mike and his dad. Mike had told me stuff about him, that he hadn't treated him the best, but maybe after two years, things might be better now. All we needed was him to say "yes", right?

As we walked up the driveway together, I felt the wind die down a little, meaning that I could finally let go of my skirt and actually look presentable. I still felt curious to look through a window though, it really didn't feel like anyone was there to welcome us.

As we stopped in front of the door, Mike suddenly stiffened and I paused with him and straight away, the few seconds of relief I had felt earlier were all gone, and the butterflies were digging hard back into my stomach again.

"Mike, are you-"

"Yeah." He shook his head quickly, as if he were trying to process something. "Yeah, I'm alright," he added. "Just had a moment."

I went to ask him was he really okay but before I could say anything, he reached out and pressed the doorbell. I heard it ring from inside and quickly straightened, dusting off my dress and patting down my hair one last time.

We waited. Nothing happened. I didn't hear any footsteps, no voices, nothing. I glanced at Mike, wondering if we should ring it again. He was shifting on his feet a little and ran his fingers through his spiky hair, trying to keep his own breathing steady. I really didn't think there was anyone home but at the same time, I didn't want to say anything in case I upset him, especially after he had mustered so much courage to drive me here in the first place. I considered asking him to ring the doorbell a second time when I heard a door inside open and shut and footsteps approaching. High heels, definitely high heels clicking on a wooden floor, getting louder with each stamp. I saw a shadow outside the blurry window to the left of the door. The clicking high heels grew louder and louder until they stopped altogether. Then the door rattled, and finally it opened. I swear as the door opened, it released another horde of imaginary butterflies . . . and they were all pounding to get into my stomach all at once, with some of them being forced up my throat. I swallowed them back and raised my eyebrows as Mike's mother who was already examining me closely, taking in my outfit, my hair, maybe even my posture. I straightened a little and clasped my hands in front of me and tried to smile at her as politely as I could.

She was about a foot taller than me, maybe a little more (but then again she did have those heels on) and her body was unbelievably skinny, apart from her big hips, and she was just as tanned as Mike was, if not more. Her hair was like black silk, it was obviously dyed, but cut into even light little layers that dropped smoothly down to her shoulders and shimmered even though there was not much sun to make it shine that much. Her makeup was very heavy, with too much foundation even for her tanned skin, dark brown eye shadow that was leaning towards black, red blush that made her look embarrassed to be there and the scarlet lipstick. The one thing that really put me off however was her clothing. It was nothing too fancy: a long red cardigan made with light cotton, a white T-shirt with pink, red and yellow flowers taking up the bottom right corner, dark blue skinny jeans, that were loose enough to show the red leather high heeled boots underneath. The only jewellery she had on was one gold ring and simple diamond stud earrings. Her outfit was nice and all . . . but it made me feel overdressed.

"Hi Mike," the mother finally said, forcing a toothy white smile onto her face. Her voice sounded just like any other woman her age, but I could sense a sneer in there somewhere and I tried not to wince at it. She somehow managed to raise her bony arms, offering her son a hug. Mike allowed her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but it looked like he was letting a performer who had invited him on stage give him the hug, not his own mother. It just looked stiff as he bent down to her and patted her on the back. It just looked like something they knew they had to do and just wanted to get it done with. It didn't look natural.

"Hi," Mike said quietly before gently pulling away, looking relieved to have broken away from his mother's grip. "Did you tell Dad-"

"He'll be down in a minute." The mother's beady baggy brown eyes were back on me, and I reminded myself to keep my posture straight. My smile was completely plastered on my face now, and I felt super fake for keeping it that way, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel that we are all faking out happiness now.

"So this is your friend, right?" The mother slowly held out her hand for me to shake. I stared at it for a moment but then took it, clinging on tight. Her grip was harder than mine though, all her fingers pressed hard on my hand and her red painted nails dug right into my skin. The handshake may have been a short one, but it was a quick harsh one that sent chills up my arm, jacket on or not.

"I'm Anne."

Immediately, even though I didn't want it to, my brain started thumping inside my skull, chanting "Maria . . . Maria . . . Maria . . . Maria." Why, brain? Why bring up memories of someone I hate, especially when I'm trying to be nice right now? I think I just stood there, letting those chants in my own head take over my senses before the mother prompted me out.

"What's your name?"

"Oh! Sorry!" I could have smacked myself in the face for not answering sooner but the thought of leaving a bad impression urged me to keep my hands down.

"Zoey . . . my name's Zoey."

Anne leaned back a little and folded her arms, examining me again. Why was she examining me so closely? Was I really that badly dressed? Or maybe it was my hair after it got blown around a little. No, I'm smiling too hard. That's it. But I don't want to stop smiling either . . .

"And you're Mike's . . . _friend_."

The way she said "friend." Damn it, I think she knows. How do I answer to that? Do I agree and say "Yeah, we're good friends" or do I contradict her and say "No, I'm his girlfriend?" Or am I his fiancé now? I have the ring on so . . . Actually is she looking at it? She was definitely eyeing my hand with the finger wearing it. I closed my fingers into my palm so she couldn't see it but I feel like she might have gotten a good look at it.

"Actually, Mom," Mike said, trying to fix eye contact with her. "That's why we're here . . ."

"Oh really?" Anne raised an eyebrow at him. I still can't get over that tone she's using . . . I think she definitely knows.

"Yeah, I- We want to discuss some things." Mike flicked a glance at me then raised a pointed finger. "Can we come in please?" he added.

Anne was standing firmly at the entrance, hand on her hip, the other leaning on the wall. It wasn't the most welcoming position, especially for a mother seeing her son for the first time in two years.

"Yes of course," she said a little sharply for my liking. She shifted her weight slowly, but then turned over ninety degrees, making room for us both to step inside.

"Well?" Mike patted my back, signalling me to step inside. This time I was actually paying attention and gave Anne a small "Thank you" as I took a deep breath and stepped in.

Okay. First step. I'm in the house. I don't know whether to feel excited because I'm finally in my boyfriend (or fiancé)'s house or petrified because of the reason I'm in the house. I want to take in every little detail, even if it is just an entrance hall with a normal wooden floor and walls painted cream. On the left, some wooden stairs lead upwards . . . I wonder where.

I didn't have much time to wonder because Anne had opened another wooden door in front of us, stepping into what looked like a kitchen. Yeah, it was a kitchen alright, almost all white, white marble tiles for both the floor and walls. The counters and cupboards were all made of a dark brown wood, again shielded with white marble. It was all very white and so clean, the sun gleamed through a large window and shone off of the tiles, making my eyes almost water.

I glanced behind me and realized that Mike was just as taken aback by this nice modern kitchen as I was, but for different reasons. He had paused altogether, squinting his eyes but taking in these new surroundings anyway.

"The kitchen's changed."

"Yes, we redesigned it a while back," Anne replied, lowering her eyebrows, as if he had no right to be surprised.

"Huh." He swiveled his eyes around, walking through slowly, before taking one of the four white plastic rounded chairs with wooden legs. The table was also wooden but with a dark varnish that made it shine almost as brightly as the white marble tiles.

"Zoey, would you like to take a seat?" I turned around and saw that Anne was examining me again. Looking down, I tugged on my dress a little, but it wouldn't go past my knees, and I was afraid to pull at it any harder without ripping it.

"Oh. Yes please." What was it with my brain today, being so slow? I quickly pulled in the seat next to Mike and sat myself down with my back to his mother. He gave me a little smile, a reassuring one and I smiled back feeling a little better. We can do this. I'm alright. I just need to stay cool, we need to get them to say yes and we're set.

"Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?" I turned around to see that Anne was standing around the many cupboards, waiting patiently for an answer. She wasn't using that sneer anymore which was a relief and she looked fairly ready to make something for us.

"Um." I shifted my weight so I didn't look too closed on her. "I . . . I don't-" I glanced at my boyfriend or fiancé, wondering what he was thinking. "Do you want any . . .?"

"Where's Dad?" Again, it was a simple question, but it was still one that peaked my curiosity. Yeah, where _was_ the father? Did he even know we were here?

"Yes, I'll get him down now." Anne gave us a false smile before disappearing to the next room, those heeled boots going _stamp stamp stamp_ with each marching step, leaving us by ourselves.

Mike had his hands clenched together tight on the table. He puffed out a heavy sigh. I pulled out a hand from underneath the table and took hold of his. The corners of his mouth stretched out a little, and he worked his hand around mine so he could give it a squeeze himself.

"You alright?" I whispered.

"Yeah." His grip on my hand tightened a little. "We're doing good."

"Wait, he's here now?"

"Yes, I told you, he'll be here at 3."

"I thought it was-"

"You didn't listen to me. I told you-"

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Will you just get off your arse for once and do something for your son?"

"Okay, okay!"

"Marc, I mean it!"

"I know!"

I tried to keep my eyes on the white tile wall ahead and ignore the conversation happening in the next room. Beside me, Mike was resting his head on his free hand, rubbing his forehead, looking tired. Or was he . . .? I slid my hand out of his so I could give it another little squeeze. I considered asking him if he was okay, but it was too obvious a question. He clearly wasn't. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, trying to push some reassurement from my hand to his. It seemed to work a little; he sat back up and smiled at me, a sickly smile but still a response of some sort.

"Sorry about that."

Both of us were quick to withdraw our hands, at Anne's voice, Mike clapping his hands together while I ducked mine back onto my lap as we whipped our heads around to see the father. From where I was standing, he seemed about the same height as Mike, maybe a little shorter and had a lighter skin colour, though he was much heavier, especially around the stomach and arms. He wasn't fat, just heavy. He had the same dark hair, very short but sticky out and dry and bristly like a sweeping brush. A light stubble covered underneath his nose and mouth and around his jaw line. As for his outfit . . . well he didn't look . . . groomed. At all. The shirt was one you'd dig up and wear just for the weekend, it was an old brown one with three yellowish-orange stripes . . . I think there might be a mustard stain on it. The jeans he had on were too loose and scruffy and I couldn't help but wonder when they had last been washed. He wasn't even wearing any shoes, just a pair of old dirty grey socks, one of which had a hole.

One look back at Mike and I could tell that he was just as revolted by his father's appearance as I was. He was actually leaning away from him, even though there was a large distance between the two, and giving him a good hard look with widened eyes that screamed "Are you kidding me?" And who could blame him? I'd feel humiliated if my dad came in without bothering to dress properly for a reunion. I was just impressed that he didn't get up and leave the room in disgust and drag me with him.

"So . . . this is Marc," Anne was saying, trying to act like their argument from before had never happened. "I'll make you some tea so you can get to know each other and discuss anything that needs to be said."

As I shifted my body position towards him to try and look open, I watched as Anne began to prepare the tea even though neither of us had said we wanted any. The father stayed by the door, not bothering to approach either of us. The only sound in the room now was the hissing of the water taps as Anne filled up the kettle. I looked at Mike again and suddenly noticed the way he was sitting in his seat: he was clutching onto his hands tighter now and he was shifting his weight away from his own father. I wanted to do something about it but I could tell that both parents were watching me so I had to keep my hands to myself.

"Hello," the father finally said. He sounded fairly cheerful, I guess. That was all he said to us. That was the only thing he had said to both of us since we had arrived in here. Neither of us responded. We didn't know how to respond.

"So, Zoey," Anne said quickly, too occupied fixing the kettle into place to look at us. "Where are you from?"

"Um . . ."

Seriously? I could kick myself for stalling right now! All she did was ask me where I lived! It wasn't like she was asking me anything deeply personal. Come on brain, I need you here!

"Canmore . . . It's a small town in Alberta." My eyes caught the father padding over towards us, around the table so he could sit in the chair opposite Mike. As he did so, Mike pulled away but forced his face to look relaxed and nodded at me to keep going.

"Oh. Sorry." Now my eyes had fallen on Marc, the father who was leaning forwards on the table, watching me intently. Now he was examining me. I smiled at him and tried to think of something to say about my hometown, but the only sound that came from from my mouth was an uneasy chuckle.

"And, um . . . Yeah, it's nice, it's quiet . . ." I sniffed and suddenly caught a whiff of beer from the father that immediately put me off.

"Canmore?" Marc shifted his face into a grin that I couldn't tell looked really friendly or really nasty. "Doesn't a lot of crime happen there?"

 _What?_

"Sorry?" I wanted to keep smiling but my face had dropped and I couldn't push it back up. "Well, there are jocks and all but-"

"I thought Canmore was a quiet town," Anne interrupted as she placed some teacups in front of us, cylinder white ones with red stripes. From behind me, I noticed her flash Marc a warning look, and he rolled his eyes in response. She might as well have given a wall the same death glare.

"It is," I agreed, noticing that Marc was now staring at the gold locket dangling in front of my chest. "Most of the time, I just, um . . ." Why was he so fascinated by my necklace? Wait, was he looking at my necklace or was he looking at my-? No, it had to be the necklace. At least I hoped so.

"Honestly, nothing really happens . . . Sometimes it can get a bit noisy, when the jocks go out partying at night, but I don't join them . . . Usually, I like to stay home . . . I do a lot of sewing . . ."

Okay, I actually managed to say something without sounding like a complete idiot! Anne finally looked somewhat interested as she placed a teapot down in the center of the table and finally sat down to join us.

"Would you not have any brothers or sisters to take you out?"

"No, I didn't." For some reason, I felt my face begin to flush, and my entire body wanted to sink, but I tried to fight against my own weight and maintain some decent posture. "I'm an only child." I had to force that last sentence out. Why did I have to force it out? I think I'm getting nervous again, or at least more than I already was.

"Oh." Anne raised her eyebrows, and even her eyes widened showing a lot of white around them. "So, does it get lonely for you?"

"Yeah, well . . . It used to be, but . . ." Oh God, I think I'm drifting into that "girlfriend" territory. What do I say? Should I change the topic? What did Marc think? He was still staring at my gold locket that was swaying in front of me. And had this weird look on his face too like he was hypnotized or something. Why was he-

"Dad!"

I flinched at Mike's sharp tone. I was never used to him snapping so to hear him snapping out of nowhere when I least expected it was definitely a surprise. It seemed to have stunned his father too and he shook his head quickly and looked up, pretending to look interested.

"Sorry." Avoiding eye contact with everyone, he pulled the teapot in and poured himself some tea. The stuff came up to the brim of the cup.

A little thought suddenly crossed my mind and I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before. It was so obvious and so stupid . . . It should explain why these parents knew so little . . .

"Did you-?" How could I phrase this politely? "We were on Total Drama. That's how we . . ." I gave Mike a look and he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, we met on Total Drama, I thought you knew that," he said, giving his dad his own little warning look.

"Oh yeah." Marc was more interested in stirring the third spoonful of sugar into his tea. "Some little kid won that right?"

I turned towards Mike again. He had stiffened in his seat altogether with his fist clenched, and he was biting his lip so hard, you could see his face darkening and his eyes flickering. Anne had a similar expression, looking like she wanted to take the teapot and smash it on the father's head. But unlike Mike, she slowly found a way to compose herself, taking a deep breath and forcing on another toothy smile. Now that I think of it, her teeth are overly white too, just like the marble flooring.

"Marc doesn't watch a lot of television," she said and I heard that slick little sneer in there again.

Beside me, Mike was still fuming inside, trying so hard not to lash out. At this point, I just wanted to reach out and give my poor boyfriend a hug. How could a father not hear that his OWN SON won a big reality show and a million dollars? How? No parent would be so ignorant to their child's accomplishments! My parents were barely around, but they at least paid attention to what I was doing and whether I had achieved something! I felt just as tempted as Anne now to grab that teapot and throw it at Marc's dumb little face, really I could.

"Let's just-" Mike scrunched up his face for a moment before finally relaxing. "We have some things to ask you."

Wait, he was asking them already? I thought we were going to make an impression first. Had I made a good enough impression? I might not be ready for this. Before I could stop it, my hand wearing the ring slid off my lap and onto the table, as if it wanted to hint both parents what we had in mind.

"Go ahead." Anne seemed to be taking the hint, eyeing my fingers, especially the ring finger that would not stop drumming on the table.

"Dad, are you-?"

Marc slurped down a huge gulp of tea and nodded. "Sure, what is it?"

Oh God, here we go. The one question that would make or break. I felt like I was kneeling down in front of these two people, not just asking for consent but begging for mercy. I wondered if the puppy dog eyes might help. Will I ask the question? Why do I have to sit back and let Mike do all the hard work? It makes me feel like a terrible girlfriend.

I'll do it.

"We're thinking of-"

"Zoey and I are engaged."

"Engaged?" Marc nearly choked on his tea. Some brown droplets escaped out his nose and through his lips and little traces of it sneaked their way back into the cup before he took another slurp. I felt my eyes widen and I had to fight my own face muscles to prevent it from showing any signs of disgust.

"Yeah," said Mike, swallowing back what must have been a big lump in his throat. "And we came here to ask if you were alright with that . . ."

"We've talked to my parents as well," I butted in. "They're completely okay with it."

Marc lowered his cup, taking good hard looks at us. For the first time this visit, he actually looked serious. His eyes narrowed as they swiveled between us. I was really considering giving him those puppy dog eyes now.

"I thought you couldn't marry when you have mental disorders."

Oh I swear to God, if he says one more bad thing about my boyfriend next to me, I am going to take that cup in his fat hand, throw the hot tea all over his face, smash the cup on his head, grab him by his grubby shirt and SCREAM in his stupid face about how ignorant a father he is! And for once, I don't care what kind of impression it leaves on him! I can feel the blood boiling down to my hands, making them claw, and up to my face. I have to let the heat slowly escape through my nose to avoid exploding.

"I got over it like two years ago." Mike didn't sound angry or snappy anymore. I know that tone. He was slumping in his seat . . . He's hurt. Really hurt. As soon as we get out of here, whether they say yes or not, I am going to squeeze him so tight. I feel my own lump in my throat coming, a piercing one that makes my eyes water. I don't even know why it's there. The father hadn't taken a shot at me but I still felt the pain. Is there even any point in staying here anymore?

"Why are you asking us then?" Marc brought the teacup to his lips and took another loud sip. I heard him swallow it down and then he smacked his lips and added "If you two wanna go ahead, get married, I don't mind."

Wait. He was saying yes? I felt my stomach open up releasing those butterflies again, but for some reason the lump in my throat was stuck.

Mike had straightened completely in his chair altogether, like he had never been insulted by his father just a second ago. "So we can?"

"I think it's a good idea," said Anne casually. "If you can get it organised . . ."

As I looked to my side, I could see Mike's body beginning to stiffen, but this time it was in a good way. I could see the colour coming to his face, the eyes brightening, the lips rising upwards and the shoulders rising with them.

"Yeah! Yeah!" He was trying to act casual but he had a wildly excited grin on his face. Next thing, he slid from the table and onto his feet and I realized I had to get up with him.

"We have it all organized, don't you worry!" He was slowly steering towards the door, reaching behind him to try and open it. I could tell he wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. "I can text you for dates and stuff."

"Yeah, do text us please," said Anne, not rising from her seat. Part of me noted that she didn't sound that enthusiastic but the rest of my senses urged me to ignore it.

"Okay! So-" Mike had found the door behind him and swung it open, flicking his free hand towards it, signalling me to pass through it.

"Thanks for the tea," I said, even though I never had any but you could never be too polite, right? "Nice to meet you," I added, fluttering a small wave goodbye as I headed out.

"Nice to meet you too, Zoey." Did I hear that sneer again? I whipped around, considering it, but Mike was quicker to say a hasty goodbye to his parents before shutting the door on them. Anne said goodbye, but not Marc. He hadn't really said anything.

But he did say yes.

I didn't know how to feel. I watched as Mike hurried over to the front door and fiddled it open so he could let me back outside. As I stepped out, all the thoughts and emotions just BARGED into my head. I want to squeal and thrust my arms around my fiancé behind me because we're finally getting married . . . but I want to cry for him too because the way his father treated him . . . It wasn't right, it just wasn't right at all.

He had finally shut the front door and turned to face me . . . And I couldn't resist hiding my feelings any longer. I leapt up at him and threw my arms around his neck, burrowing my face into his shoulder. I felt his arms wrap around me so tight that it squeezed out that lump in my throat. I felt the tears coming and moaned at the thought of it, not because I felt stupid crying in front of him but because I had no reason to be crying, especially after all that had happened in there.

"Zoey, we did it! We're getting married."

"Yeah, but your dad, though-"

"Shhhh . . ." He ran his fingers through my hair, soothing me immediately. "It's alright, not important."

I sniffed in response and buried my face deeper into his shoulder, wanting to squeeze him tighter but lacking the strength.

We're getting married. I couldn't help but laugh. We were actually getting married. I swallowed back and the lump in my throat finally left. I laughed again and he laughed with me, making me smile.

I had no idea if Mike considered what had happened back in there important or not. But he was hugging me and laughing with me . . . I had seen myself how excited he had been to leave the house. I shut my eyes and released my leftover emotions through one shaky breath.

"It's gonna be perfect," he whispered and pressed his lips on my head to further prove his point. I turned my face towards his neck but kept my head nestled on his shoulder. Maybe he was right. We had both our parent's permission. Now all we had ahead of us was the perfect wedding.

Things could only look up from here, right?

* * *

 **And there's your first chapter. Yeah, there are some things I deliberately put in there, like the dates and certain behavior coming from Mike's parents, and you you'll see why as the story progresses. I was originally going to put the drive to Mike's house and getting his parent's permission to marry Zoey in separate chapters but decided not to because the summary already gives it away. Anyway, I hope you liked it.**

 **Read and Review please. Chapter 2 and other story updates coming soon :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, GiLaw here, with Chapter 2 for The Back story. Hope you like it, it's a big moment for our two lovebirds so let's go!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **The Wedding**

 **Saturday, April 23rd, 2016**

 **5:24 PM**

Oh God. After one huge stressful month of dealing with parents and getting everything sorted, dresses and registrations and just nothing but chaos really, I am about to have the best day of my life.

Standing outside the huge church doors, I all I could feel were fireworks inside me that that didn't know if they wanted to go off or just die out altogether. I glanced at my phone and tried to ignore the lurching feeling in my stomach. My dress didn't help that sickly feeling. It was a beautiful dress and all, but only now did it feel a bit on the tight side. It was a mostly white silk but there was a lace embroidery leaf design mostly around the shoulders, chest and veil. The leaves and flowers looked like something I would sew at home, but much more professional. I wondered how the seamstress (or semester) could have left the stems and leaves so perfectly flowing but at the same time so stiffly fixed into place. I imagined a bony faced seamstress with white blonde hair scraped back into a tight bun sewing them on while I was wearing the thing. She did it with such care and precision, but every time the needle went through, I felt a sharp jab through my skin and when she pulled the needle back out again, it tightened the dress on me, pulling out the white thread, pulling and tightening until it squeezed around my stomach and I couldn't breathe.

I sneaked another glance at my phone when my parents weren't looking. Mike hadn't replied to my last message. I so badly wanted to see him . . . and I kind of wanted him to see me and tell me if I looked okay. The last thing I wanted more than anything was to come out of those massive church doors looking awful in front of him. But at the same time, I knew it was a thing, some urban legend that if I was to see him before this big wedding, it would just bring bad luck for both of us and that was something that neither of us could do with at the moment.

I felt like sending him another text, and for once I didn't care what my mother said. I could sense her staring at me, but I pretended to ignore her as my fingers tapped away at those little keys. For some reason they were shaking like a real leaf now. It took me longer than I would have liked to send him one little message:

 _"Are your parents being nice to you?"_

"Zoey-"

"Yeah. Sorry." I lowered down my phone but then raised it again. 5:26. Just under five minutes to go. Every minute felt like it was dragging along until it felt like an hour.

My mother was a small dainty woman and the rare times I had gotten to go shopping with her, people had always pointed out they could see the resemblance. She had the light blonde hair (My hair used be blonde too before I dyed it), the brown eyes, the clear white skin and the fragile looking face, though I still felt like mine looked more delicate and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She actually looked comfortable in her navy blue silk dress that flowed a few inches past her knees and silver pumps with just enough bracelets and a silver swan chain to avoid looking too fussy. She looked dressed up but she looked relaxed about it too . . . but then again she had gone through a moment like this once before. My dad next to her also looked comfortable and well groomed, freshly shaved and neatly combed brown hair (though there wasn't much for him to comb) . . . He was wearing a crisp black suit, something I wasn't used to. I mean he was one for dressing up, but not in the suits, so it was weird to see him right in front of me with the black suit, the clean white shirt, the neat little bow tie that was so perfectly fastened . . . It was something he only did for special occasions. _Really_ special occasions.

My phone buzzed in my hand again and I couldn't resist seeing how Mike had replied to me. What did he say? Were his parents treating him well? Marc especially after that almost disastrous first meeting, I really needed to know-

 _"Yeah they're fine. Don't worry."_

The F word. That one word that was enough to convince me that he wasn't alright and make me worry about him even more. How could I know if he was alright when he was on the other side of those doors with so many other people there? Well there weren't that many people, all of them were just friends of our parents since Mike and I never really had many friends but at the same time, they were probably all strangers to both of us. I badly wanted to send him another text but my fingers had gone past simply shaking to that stage where they were dancing around wherever they felt like, avoiding the letters completely. I tried to get them to tap down so I could send some form of a reply, but it was like there was an invisible force field on my phone and my fingers just wouldn't touch it. And then my phone buzzed again:

 _"I have a surprise for you after this."_

A surprise? What surprise? What was he planning? I didn't know. I really didn't want to put the phone away but at the same time I had to. I slowly raised it towards my mother but then pulled it back quickly to check the time. 5:28. Two more minutes. Should I turn it off? I wasn't like it was going to go off at any given moment and play a hate song or a song about crashing weddings . . . Okay, I'll turn it off. I really didn't want to . . . But I just had to do it. I had to really push against that one button on the side, harder than usual before it eventually asked me if I wanted it off or not.

Did I want it off?

What if he texted me again?

He probably wouldn't if I didn't reply.

But then again, it might make him nervous if I didn't send him any form of response.

What if he texted me but something got held up and my phone went off during the ceremony?

I tapped the "off" button before I could overthink it any further and handed it over to my mother who nodded and took it with a small "thank you." As she picked it off my hand, I suddenly realized how heavy it had felt, that it was actually forcing my hand and arm down and a whoosh of relief shot through it once it no longer had to cling onto it. It didn't feel like I was handing my mother a simple piece of black metal. It felt like I was handing her a piece of me so she could lock it up safely in her new cream leather handbag.

She patted it down, very gently, then looked up at me with a strange kind of look. I wanted to say she was examining me, but it didn't feel like she was doing it in a bad way. Her face was trying to look neutral but the emotions were all forcing their way through . . . I could see the mouth trembling and the eyes shimmering. I felt like I was a rare precious statue in a fancy museum and I was being memorised because a photograph would do no justice whatsoever. And then she sighed and suddenly thrust her arms around me, carefully so she wouldn't ruin my dress but so tight, it knocked the air out of me again and I almost spluttered. I was used to her hugging me, she was my mother after all, but not this . . . passionate. I had to return the hug and not just because it was the polite thing to do.

"I'm so proud of you." Her voice croaked. That crack alone was enough to make me squeeze her tighter. I suddenly realized that she was seeing this only once in her life and that's why she was holding onto me so tight. I was her only child. Once she let go, I was gone.

I wanted to slowly pull her away but at the same time, my arms seemed to have glued themselves around her. She had to take my shoulders and force us away, but I still felt like there was some sort of magnetic force trying to stick us together. I had to grab onto my dad's arm to avoid clinging back onto her again. He happily worked his arm around mine, linking them tightly together.

"Right." My mother sniffed back the emotion she was trying to hide before reaching out and handing me the bouquet of flowers from the nearby table. It was a pretty little bouquet, mostly white and pink flowers but once again, they felt unnaturally heavy. The light petals drooped down like stones, almost pulling my arms down with me.

"You know what you have to do. Just wait for him to ask you and all you have to do is . . . say the words." She nodded at me before backing towards the two doors behind her. She wouldn't turn around. She had to feel behind her for the handle. My dad went to open the door for her when she finally found her way and realized that she actually had to turn around if she was going to get out. As she heaved open the door open, I shifted to my left, trying to sneak a glance inside. I could see some people, but I didn't recognise any of them. I couldn't see Mike. Where was he? I wanted to shuffle over to get a better angle, but my arm was locked around my dad's and I couldn't move. My mother may have noticed the way I was trying to look in . . . she deliberately opened the door just wide enough so she could squeeze through and then shut the door. She closed it as gently as she could but a loud hollow banging sound still rang around the room and into my ears, a sound crept into my ears and sent a chill down my arms.

How much longer until I had to step out? I wanted to climb up my dad's shoulders and curl up to him like a toddler, but the stiff dress and heavy flowers prevented me from doing so. Instead, I sighed and rested my head on his arm, only to remember that I still had to keep my hair in place. The stylist had done it almost as well as my seamstress, tugging the little red strands to clip them exactly into place. I could feel the strain between the silver hair clip that kept it in place and my own scalp. I wondered if a certain amount of stretching could cause the hair to snap like those delicate chains you saw in thriller movies, chains that should have been strong but had to break so that everything went wrong.

It couldn't be much longer now. Any second now, those massive doors would open and all eyes would be on me. The church wasn't even that big and I still felt tiny in it. Actually, it was mainly the doors that made me feel so small, the walls around me seemed to be closing in on me, and I was shrinking with them until I found myself gasping for air again. It was just those doors, looming over me, like some towering disapproving giant who wanted to crush me.

Why was it I felt so nervous? I was about to marry the man of my dreams, wasn't I? Was it normal for brides to feel this nervous? I considered asking my dad next to me, but what if he ended up giving me some weird lecture or inspirational speech and then the doors opened and we didn't look ready? Those doors HAD to open any second now. I moaned a little and squeezed my dad's arm, to which he responded giving my arm a little shake, the type that warmed you up instead of sending shivers up your arm and through your body.

I looked up at him and went to smile but the doors suddenly rattled and opened up and my body wanted to jump but the stiff dress prevented me from doing so. Everyone in the church had stood up, everyone now looking at me. There had to be at least forty people in there and every one of them had their eyes on me. Not on my dad. Me.

I felt him tug on my arm a little and I realized that it was time for me to walk. Under my white hems, my silver heeled sandals seemed to have drilled themselves to the ground and I had to tug at them to get my feet moving. And even then, my feet seemed to have turned into concrete. I had to really heave at them to get them moving. As my dad and I began to make our way down the red carpet aisle with its white and pink flower petals, I tried to keep my head up and my eyes away from all the strangers around me. I didn't recognize any of them. I wished I could have at least invited some old friends from Total Drama, especially Cameron, but unfortunately his mother was so overprotective, she forbid him from using any form of technology or social media or sending any letters. I hadn't heard from him since we went our separate ways after our final season together and boy did I miss him. At least I knew he had his own set of million dollars to spend for his every need.

Halfway down the aisle. It was definitely longer than I first interpreted. Or were we just walking really slowly? It gave me an opportunity to take in my surroundings. There were a few men, all in suits that were practically the same, black cotton and spotless white shirts, maybe a different bowtie here and there. The women were a completely different story altogether, all dressed up, like a collection of dolls, with plastic eyes really examining my dress. Based on how much fake tan they were wearing, how their faces were painted, how their hair was styled, their posture more stiff than mine, their clothes definitely expensive, all designer evening dresses with floral hats and perfect shoes . . . I could tell that they were all friends of Anne, at least the ones who were more dressed up than I was- and they did not look happy to be here. They looked happy to be standing amongst each other, just not in this building.

The church itself like any other church, arched ceilings, a crystal chandelier, multicoloured glass windows . . . Pictures of stories of Jesus that were so well painted, it gave me the impression he was looking down on me . . . It was only now I realized, I was never particularly into Catholicism or any real religion really, but it was all I really knew. My parents had occasionally taken me, just for special events, Easter, Christmas, it was the noble thing to do. We could have easily organised a private wedding but at the same time we both knew that it would just be unfair on our parents, whether they had been good to us or not.

Us . . . I finally looked forwards . . . And there he was. Mike. My future husband. He looked just as handsome as ever, with those deep brown eyes, the glowing real tan, his dark hair that was spiky as ever but still looked so soft. His suit made him look even smarter. It was very similar to all the other men in the room but there was something about it that looked neater. Maybe it was the white silk tie, maybe it was the white rose in his jacket pocket, but he was just so much better looking than all the other men. As soon as my eyes fell on him, I felt all my nerves almost melt away. The bouquet in my hand suddenly felt like nothing, like I might as well have been carrying a bag of air.

He held out his hand for me to take so I could stand up by his side and only then did I realize that my dad had left me to sit with my mother. I flicked a glance behind me and sure enough, there they were, sitting together, looking up at me. My mother smiled and my dad gave me a reassuring little nod.

Our priest was an elderly little man with a scrawny face and sunken eyes. He had stringy grey hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in about a week. He wore white and gold garments, just like a priest would for any wedding ceremony, though they did look a bit big and crumpled for him. He gave me his own smile, not the nicest of smiles but one I was still willing to take. I smiled back and rubbed my arm against Mike next to me. I wanted to cuddle up to him, rest my head on his shoulders, squeeze tightly onto his hand, not just simply hold it but the idea of the people behind us, all staring, the women still examining me reminded me that I would just have to wait until afterwards.

"We are gathered here today," our priest began and Mike and I turned to face one another. As we did so, I suddenly wondered where his parents were. They definitely weren't with mine anyway. I swiveled my eyes around, seeing nothing but strange made up faces until I finally spotted them in the front row, on the edge of the seat. Anne was all done up, just like the other women, but more so, in an overly elegant long dark purple dress with silver beading, a white lace jacket and her hair tied into a curly side bun. Marc was in a black suit, just like the other men, but unlike those men, his was a bit on the crumpled side. His shirt definitely wasn't as well kept or blindingly white as the other men. He didn't even have a bow tie on. He had a tie on, but it was a bleak black one that looked more suitable for a funeral than a wedding. But . . . at least he had bothered to dress up and not that scruffy outfit from last time so that was something, right? Wait, was he looking at me now? Yeah, he had sealed the eye contact with me, raised eyebrows, giving me a weird look, that seemed to be more than admiring the dress I had on. There just was something really uncomfortable about that look he was giving me . . .

Whatever. It didn't matter. He wasn't important right now. All that mattered right now was the man in front of me. Mike.

I looked up at him, trying not to smirk and suddenly realized that he was also gazing at me, up and down. His eyes swiveled up and down, taking in the rigid embroidery design, the soft fallen skirts, the way my hair was scraped back so neatly into place. His eyelids raised slightly. I noticed a hint of colour coming to his cheeks. I felt the the flushing hot feeling coming to my own face and glanced down at my feet, when I felt him squeeze my hand that was enough to make me look up at him again. He squeezed my hand a little tighter and his face shifted into a loving, genuine smile, one that spoke out everything he had to say. My face melted into a beam, and slowly, one by one, all my other senses melted with it. The longer I kept my eyes on him, the less important my surroundings became. The posh snobby women wavered and disappeared into nothing. My ears closed to the priest's droning voice on my left, only opening every now and then to pick up words such as "love", "cherish" and "protect." Things that we had to do but had been doing for a long time now.

My mind drifted out of the room, out of this little church, out of Canada and out onto sea, on that boat where I had first met him. I so badly wanted to nudge him and ask him if he could believe we were finally doing this, just so he could reply how beautiful it was. It was almost funny, how I had simply entered this gameshow I liked just to make more friends and win more money . . . and I had the money, but I had it with the most amazing man I could have ever asked for. Our relationship had definitely had its ups and downs, but the downs were like little baby steps that didn't feel that big anymore. I felt him stroking my hand with his thumb and it brought me back to all those moments he saved me, from the totem pole, to that cliff, to the spider, to that tree in the swamp . . . He was my lifesaver, the spark in my life, but at the same time, I knew that he needed me just as much. He had told me so many times . . . I was the reason he had overcome his Multiple Personality Disorder. I was the one who had given him the confidence he so badly needed to overcome his alternate personalities, even the more evil persistent ones. I could never quite believe it, but he had always insisted. Simply being my nice self had saved him from being taken over . . . It made me feel . . . special a funny, warm kind of special, like I had done something important for once in my life and nothing else I would do could ever match that.

Our priest was still droning on from the large book that his wrinkled hand was struggling to keep raised. I don't think he had looked up from that book since he had started reading from it. I sneaked a glance at him then back to Mike again who sighed a little but was still had a small little smile on his face. I wondered if he had the same thing in mind. He was eyeing the priest too as he went on about the responsibilities of marriage that we probably both already had in mind. It definitely didn't feel like he was there to encourage any real love or commitment, (things we already had for each other) but giving us a bit of a lecture.

I tore my eyes away from the priest and looked up at my future husband who noticed and fixed the eye contact with me. Again I felt the warmth coming to my cheeks and the corners of my mouth rising with it. Every time I looked at that face, I could just feel the fireworks going off, though this time I had to restrain them from exploding inside of me. The tension, the exciting sense of anticipation was enough to get my hands shaking.

"Hi," I mouthed at him for some stupid reason and I immediately tightened my lips at the thought of it. Why did I do that? We weren't supposed to talk during a ceremony, were we?

"Hi," Mike mouthed back at me, and straight away, those stupid questions in my head faded away into nothing. He looked down for a second and I felt my face drop a little, wondering what was he thinking. But he quickly looked back up at me, then mouthed something else, so quietly, I had to lean forwards to try and catch it, squinting my eyes to let him know I had missed it. And then he repeated his sentence:

"You look beautiful."

He gave me another affectionate smile and I had to bite my lip to keep the fireworks in. I always had that feeling that he was going to say that, it was Mike after all, and he always thought I looked beautiful (for some reason), but something about it just seemed to trigger the first few little sparks inside of me. I wanted to just squeal and thrust my arms around him and kiss him right there and right now but we still had quite a while to wait. I flicked a glance at the priest, but my eyes steered themselves back towards Mike again. He was eyeing the priest too, still droning on with little to no interest, and his smile shifted into a joking little smirk as he looked at me again.

"This is boring!" he mouthed, though this time I picked up a faint little whisper. A giggle went to escape me and I knew that if I shut it off, it would come out as a snort, so I had to tighten my own throat (if that was even possible) just to let out quietly enough.

"Yeah!" I raised and dropped my shoulders in agreement.

Mike's smirk grew a little wider and he pursed his lips shut, enough to tell me that he was struggling to keep in his own laughter. He gave my arm a little shake and a little nod to go with it.

"Soon."

"Yeah."

As I relaxed, feeling a little more patient, I rolled my eyes around the church again, wondering why we didn't take the good part of our million dollars and spend it on a big fancy beach wedding with flower arches and real petals and white chairs and a blue pool with sunny skies and white doves . . . Okay, thinking about it now made it sound a bit showy. I guess that's why neither of us really went for something so . . . over the top. Suddenly the fairy tale images didn't feel necessary anymore. We could have had everything white and beautiful and perfect . . . and none of it would have mattered if it hadn't been with the right person. We had the money alright . . . but we had each other which was even better.

"The bride and groom will now exchange vows."

Oh God, this was it. I stiffened and looked up at my future husband and the fireworks in me stopped sparking and started smoking, slowly bulging as they tried to hold in the colour and the emotion. I worked my fingers around Mike's hand so I could give it a tight little squeeze, though he was clutching on even tighter. I saw the colour rush to my fingertips from the pressure, but I felt nothing. Nothing but excitement.

"Mike," the priest began, finally looking up from his book with raised eyebrows. For the first time this ceremony, he actually looked interested. "Do you take Zoey to be your beloved wedded wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her, to protect her, to honor her for all your life?"

Mike was gazing deep into my eyes, trying even harder than me to hide his excitement. His eyes were shimmering, his body was trembling. I suddenly felt a pinch on my hand where he was holding me so tight.

"I do."

I heard a scratch in his voice, something deep, something I had never really heard before. I could only recall hearing him use that tone once before, and that was back to when we had first met on that boat. When I had first spoke to him, and he had replied in that awe-filled loving tone.

"It's . . . beautiful . . ."

Those fireworks in me had stopped sparking and were now smoking. I could actually feel them bulging inside of me from all the pressure, ready to explode. All I had to do was say those two words. Two words and we had done it. I bit my lip again, waiting for the priest next to me to ask those questions.

"Zoey."

I opened my mouth, about to say it but realized that he hadn't even asked the vows yet. I heard myself gasp and heard the audience watching us murmur. Oh God, they heard it. I quickly swallowed back my feelings of anticipation and exhaled a slow steady sigh.

"Do you take Mike to be your beloved wedded husband . . . Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad . . . in sickness and in health . . . to love him . . . to protect him . . . to honor him for all your life?"

"I do." I almost interrupted him, I couldn't hold the words in any longer. My voice almost croaked with it all. I felt the heat rushing from my face through the veins in my arms down to my fingertips which looked that little bit more red now. Most of my senses seemed to have stopped completely, oblivious to the priest snapping his book shut, the sound of murmuring amongst the audience that my brain had completely erased from sight altogether. The fireworks were about to go off . . . I had to pant at a certain rhythm to keep them under control but inhale through my nose so it wasn't obvious.

"The bride and groom have given their consent . . ." The priest stood back and gave Mike a little nod before finally saying the words we had been waiting for such a long time now.

"You may now kiss the bride."

This was it. The moment we had both been waiting for. I beamed at Mike and went to lean in, but he was quicker, raising my hands and almost yanking me in. I gasped and just managed to take in enough air before he pressed his lips against mine.

And the fireworks went off.

I shut my eyes and let the fireworks release all the emotion for me to put into that one kiss. My ears picked up on the audience "ooing" . . . but slowly one by one, they started clapping. I sneaked my eyes open for a brief second, enough for me to see that my mother had started the applause and now everyone was joining in.

They were clapping for us. And they were cheering. I may not have known any of them but I didn't care as long as they were cheering. I shut my eyes again, tighter this time and grabbed Mike's face in my hands, even though one was still somehow clutching onto that little bouquet of flowers that felt like nothing, pushing his lips harder against mine. I wanted to stay like this forever, only breaking away to take a brief breath of air but never truly separating.

He separated suddenly and I opened my eyes just as he bent down and scooped me up in his arms, white lace dress and all. I squealed and threw my arms around him, clinging on for dear life, but let him sweep me off my feet anyway, laughing like a child. I always had to remind myself how strong he was, that underneath that fancy tuxedo and rose and white bow tie, there was a fit skinny body with a beautiful eight pack.

I squealed again, but much quieter and rested my head on his shoulder as he carried me down that red carpet aisle. I realized that though it wasn't anything spectacular, it was still a red carpet with scattered flower petals, specially for the two of us. Somewhere behind me, I could have sworn I heard Marc whooping inappropriately but my mind urged me to ignore it. Like Mike had said to me before, he wasn't important. None of the people, not even the overdressed, overly glamorous women were important.

The doors ahead seemed much smaller now, and they seemed to open by themselves for us, making it feel that little bit more magical. I suddenly realized that I had a mad little grin on my face and it was stuck there, but I was not going to allow it to leave. As Mike stepped out the doors, somehow managing to carry me down those small white marble steps, I clutched onto him a little tighter. I didn't know why, they were just steps. But again the overwhelming sense of happiness seemed to have washed out all real common sense. My eyes fell on the sleek black limo ahead of us and I felt that grin on my face again.

Behind us, most of the audience had stepped out, still clapping with neutral faces, except for my parents who beamed back at me. My dad laughed and my mother waved at me. I noticed her sniff back but stay composed as always.

I waved back and gave her a thumbs up just as Mike stopped at the limo so he could put me down. I slid free from his arms, managing to land neatly on my feet without bending my ankles in my heeled sandals, but even if I had landed awkwardly, he was still leaning over, ready to catch me, making me giggle. Even something as simple as getting to my feet, he was so ridiculously protective of me, it was just adorable. He even had to open the door for me, watching intently as I gathered up my skirts and climbed in. The crowd at the top of the stairs were still clapping and cheering, some of them even whistling for us. My parents were up front of course, they had fought to get up there first. I could see Anne somewhere in the back of the crowd, near the door. I squinted my eyes looking for Marc when the door closed on me, making me jump.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, catching a scent of fresh pine needle air freshener and glanced to my right hand side, waiting patiently for the door to open. My veil was digging into the back of my head, making it irritable and scratchy, a feeling that was kicking in just now but a relief at the same time, knowing I could take it off, just as the door opened and Mike sat himself inside.

For some reason I whipped my head away as the limo engine started to rumble and slowly drive off. The crowd was cheering louder but getting quieter as it began to pull away, slowly edging out of sight. I leaned forwards in my clean black leather seat, keeping my eyes on my parents as they grew smaller and smaller, until they disappeared and my head wouldn't turn anymore to see them. I had no idea why I was watching them as closely as I was- it definitely wasn't going to be the last time I would ever see them, in fact, I knew that I would be seeing them for dinner in just a few minutes. But looking back, I imagined a younger, more helpless little me, still blonde and naive stuck with them, not wanting to leave . . .

"You okay?"

I shook a little but giggled of the thought of myself getting startled by Mike asking me a simple question like that. I sighed and took his hand, trying to think of the right words to say as I gazed into his eyes again. Those eyes, those deep brown eyes that I couldn't get enough of. How could I tell him how I felt? We were married! We were truly together! The best day of our lives!

The only thing I could think of to express such happiness was to take him by the head again and pull him in for another kiss, moaning loudly as I did so. It was a quick one, only a few seconds, but it said everything I needed to say.

"We did it!" I clawed my hands and let out the quietest scream my feelings would allow me- and they wouldn't allow that quiet a scream.

"I'm so happy!" I wanted to laugh my head off and bawl my eyes out at the same time. How else could I express myself? If I wasn't in a limo in a dress and in heels, I would probably be sprinting down the road screaming blue murder by now.

Mike beamed and pulled me into his arms again and as always I allowed him to do so. I groaned happily and wrapped my arm around his shoulder so I could pull myself even closer to him. I noticed the driver eyeing us through his mirror with a raised eyebrow but I just shut my eyes, blocking him out completely as Mike stroked my arm up and down.

"Wanna see the surprise?"

The surprise! Yes! The surprise! Immediately I opened my eyes and sat back up, which he took as a yes. He dug his hand into his black suit jacket and pulled out his phone. I narrowed my eyes a little but I was still grinning a little as he turned it on, keeping it at an angle so I couldn't see.

"Where is it . . . There we go." He smiled and handed me his phone so I could look for myself.

It was a picture of a tropical beach, a Caribbean one I assumed, with pure white sand and crystal blue water, so clear, you could see the ripples and shine, emphasised by the shining bright sun and cloudless skies that were just as clear blue as the sea, but a much richer colour. Lush palm trees stretched out in the distance, all green and beautiful. I lowered my eyebrows a little when Mike reached out and pointed at the screen.

"Scroll across."

I placed my finger on the screen and swiped along to reveal a wooden platform leading over the crystal sea to a orange-brown wooden hut with a straw roof and a long vertical wall on the sides blooming with pink Hibiscus flowers.

"Okay . . ." I felt my eyelids widen a little as I lowered the phone and looked up at my husband who was grinning to himself. I felt like I knew what he had in mind but for some reason I just couldn't ask him. Were we really . . . ?

He looked up at me, still grinning, a little wider now. His body had tensed up, but I could tell that it was with excitement. He sealed that all important eye contact with me again, as if he was trying to read my mind. A wide grin spread across his lips. And then he answered.

"We're going in two weeks."

That sentence alone was enough to shut off my senses altogether. My body seemed to freeze itself completely solid. Mike's phone drooped in my hand, almost slipping out my fingers. I could tell I had that stupid shocked look on my face with the widened eyes looking blankly into his face I guess with the mouth hanging open.

We were going to that beautiful Caribbean island with the amazing hut . . . together.

The two of us and no one else were going to that island . . .

 _"MIKE!"_ I screamed and practically leapt on top of him, almost knocking him over, but he somehow managed to stay sitting up, laughing as he did so. "You did not!"

"Yeah I did!" he chuckled, pressing his lips on my forehead for a quick peck as we squeezed each other as tight as we possibly could, which wasn't easy as we were both shaking with delight. "You excited?"

I responded by giving him another passionate kiss on the lips, one that we both saw coming this time and made us immediately forget how obvious a question that had been.

"I can't wait."

A beautiful wedding and now this Caribbean holiday to spend with the most wonderful husband . . . What else could a girl ask for? Our wedding definitely hadn't been exactly what we had wanted, but it had still been so lovely. And now we had this holiday- no a honeymoon to look forward to.

The perfect honeymoon, just myself and my new husband.

No one else. Perfect.

* * *

 **And there you go, there's Chapter 2. Sorry if this one dragged on a bit, it's so hard to make a wedding chapter interesting, especially when you don't even know how exactly they work but I just wanted to get some more details in there, Zoey's feelings, characters of her parents, all that good stuff.**

 **Yes, Honeymoon Lemon does take place after this so if you haven't read that yet, you might want to. Even if you don't like lemon fics, at least take a quick look at it to get a good idea of where they're staying, because the fic itself does play a part in this.**

 **I promise the story will get more interesting after this.**

 **Anyway, I'll see you guys soon :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys. So yeah, this one has been a while. Honestly none of my stories have been getting that much attention lately.**

 **But for some reason my Zoke phase from last year came back when I had exams coming up (again) soon so I figured "Why not? Might as well."**

 **Just a heads up, you might want to read Honeymoon Lemon before reading this chapter or this won't make sense. But if it gets to the point where it gets uncomfortable, you can easily stop and go onto here. This chapter pretty much takes place after that scene.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **Unexpected Arrivals**

 **Friday, May 6th, 2016**

 **11:07 AM**

I don't want to get up. I want to stay in his arms forever. I want to stay here in this room, in this hut on the beach, on this island. Just with Mike and no one else. I wish this honeymoon could last forever. I want feel the golden beam of the sun on my back. I want to hear the waves wash over the sands outside. I want to feel the crisp white sheets sink underneath me every time I move on them.

I rubbed my head against my husband's chest, pinching his warm muscular shoulder. He responded by brushing some of the hair away from my face with a tender delicate touch. As I snuggled up to him as much as I possibly could, I felt him pick up that flower from last night and fix it back in my hair. Even though my eyes would not open, I could tell we both had warm cosy very satisfied smile on our faces.

"That was the best night ever." With my lips pressed against his chest, my voice came out muffled but even then, I felt him squeeze me tighter against him. The squeeze was enough to gently pull my eyes open. Seeing the white sheets, the flowers, the picture frames, the red carpet reminded me that I wasn't in a fantasy world. We were really on our honeymoon, alone together.

"Better than a luxury spa hotel?"

I'm too tired to laugh, just muster an exhausted but delighted little smile. I wanted to move, just nuzzle myself against him more. I don't care that he was inside me last night, and it makes me feel almost spoilt that I can never get close enough to him. It's Mike. I want to stay with him forever. Just him. No one else.

"I don't wanna go."

This time, his comment got a weak little chuckle out of me. I rubbed my head against his chest, sliding my hand down from his shoulder to join my head on his chest as well, wriggling until I was more comfortable than I already was. Then, heaving a heavy sigh, I let my eyes relax shut again.

"Neither do I."

The white sheets underneath us were sticking. I was aware that we were both damp in a warm sticky sweat. The kind that in its own little way added to the romantic warmth of the room and kept us stuck together better than any other superglue you could find. Every time I breathed in through my nose, I took in his scent, the sweet scent of the lavender pillows, the scent of the flowers around us, a hint of salt from the outside. The most beautiful combination.

I flopped my head onto his arm underneath me. My eyes were able to open themselves up again. I blinked, taking in the golden light and then looked over at my husband. Never before had I seen him so . . . peaceful. He was almost completely fast asleep, only budging to keep the sheets underneath him from sticking. His hair was dark and damp and fell over his eyes that were completely relaxed shut; and his lips had just enough energy to keep a little smile on. My eyes wanted to sneak downwards but I kept them on his face. I brought my hand up with less effort than I had expected and started stroking his cheek as gently as I could. As soon as my fingers brushed against his skin, his face melted into an even happier little smile. His arms around me squeezed me a little tighter, squeezing more warm fuzzy feelings into me.

"God I love you." His voice almost croaked but neither of us cared. The whole time he kept his eyes shut. He wanted to be here even more than I did, if that was even possible. One of us had to go, but neither of us wanted to be the one to go.

The sheets underneath me were beginning to feel a little too hot and a little too sticky. I felt myself having to actually peel them away from my skin. It was then when I remembered I only had my bra on and nothing else, unless you counted the diamond ring on my finger. My eyes were tempted to creep downwards again, but I kept them on the wardrobe ahead. The warm feelings began to get hot. Too hot. I felt it all rush to my face. It was beginning to get a bit much.

"Mike?"

"Hm?"

Still he didn't move or open his eyes. I wondered should I pull away first or ask him? Slowly, I pressed my hand against his chest and gave him a timid little nudge.

"I think I'm gonna go have a shower."

I lay there. He didn't respond. His grip around me didn't tighten but it didn't loosen either.

"Is that okay?"

He shifted a little. I felt his hand slide away from my shoulder and down behind him. I quickly darted my eyes towards the ceiling. He was peeling the sheets off of his skin and legs too. I was free to move but for some reason, I didn't feel free to move.

"Mike? I'm gonna have a shower."

"Yeah sure."

He flopped his hand over his stomach, that eight pack of his. Oh that eight back. He'd given me permission to leave but even with that, part of me still didn't want to leave him. I took up his hand and began rubbing my fingers between his. His fingers closed around mine in a tight grip, an affectionate one that wanted me to stay. It made me feel guilty even though it was just the two of us in this one room with no one around to bother us. Somehow, I managed to steer my left hand onto the pillow and push myself up into a sitting position. As I pushed myself up, I felt his grip on my hand tighten a little.

"I'll be in the kitchen afterwards."

I reached out with my left hand and brushed some of the dark hair away from his eyes so I could lean over him and press my lips on his forehead. As soon as I planted that kiss, I felt his fingers on my other hand slip away. It made my heart pound a little harder than usual, a feeling of guilty relief.

I was free. I raised my legs, letting the white sheets peel off as I slid my feet over and lowered them onto the red rug underneath my feet. As I planted my toes down on it, the sort furry strands of it immediately soothed me. As I stood up, I flicked a glance behind me. He had fallen back asleep.

Why was it that I felt so shy all of a sudden? I mean this wasn't like a total stranger or a campmate that I was spending a couple of weeks with. This was my newly wed husband who I had been together with for two years, competed on a gameshow with me, saved me so many times, had sex with me last night and had been through so much to be here with me.

I reached out for my beach dress from last night and stepped back into it. It was only going to stay on for a while. From what I remembered last night, we had left our suitcases in the kitchen in front of the door. I took my time leaving the bedroom, running my toes through the smooth soft strands of red carpet. I had to look back at my husband one last time before completely leaving the bedroom. He had dozed off again, in his own little dream world. And how could anyone blame him?

Stepping into the open room with the open windows, the bright orange walls, the coloured flowers the beaming sun on a shimmering ocean and powdered white sand out the windows all took me by surprise. I had stepped into this room before, but not in daylight. The blazing heat of the sun brought the whole room to life and stopped me where I was. I breathed in a fresh scent of warm salt and sweet flowers. Outside the windows ahead, the rush of white waves were just begging me to run out to them and dive in. They almost convinced me to surrender myself to the crystal blue waters and bathe in them instead.

My suitcase was obviously the bigger one. As I headed over to the door to pull our suitcases in, I had to roll my eyes to myself now knowing that I had brought way too many clothes. There were some outfits in my case that I had specifically bought just for this honeymoon. It made me wonder how many dresses I could go through over the course of a week. Some of them could work nicely back at home, but home hardly mattered at the moment.

I unzipped my suitcase and fished out what I was looking for: a rose coloured silk bathrobe, one of the little garments I had bought for this honeymoon and this honeymoon only. It was a little bit on the short side now that I looked at it. It made me bite my lip at how ridiculously excited I had been to buy everything in the shops that seemed romantic to me. Shaking my head to myself, I decided I might as well drag these two cases down to the bedroom to save Mike the trouble.

They were heavy enough but I had the strength to carry them down the golden brown corridor and drop them outside. As I dropped them, I snuck a peek inside the bedroom again. Mike had rolled over onto his other side, facing towards me. The sheets had been tossed around so much and had somehow found a way to cover him up where it mattered most. Even though I kept on having to remind myself that I had seen . . . it before and let him put it inside me, I still felt oddly relieved that the sheets were covering it up. It made me feel less nosey, even though I was just checking up on him. I didn't know why I was so anxious to keep checking on him either. He was just sleeping there, going nowhere. He knew where I was. I wasn't going anywhere. Not without him.

Maybe that was it. Maybe everything was just so romantic and perfect that something in me kept waiting for something horrible to happen, like Chris appearing to blow up our hut or Mike would suddenly wake up and shift into a completely new personality altogether even though I knew perfectly well he had overcome his disorder.

He had completely overcome it right?

He had to. We wouldn't be in this beautiful hut otherwise. That got me to leave him be and turn around to the door opposite me. It had to be the bathroom. I stepped over it and gave the door a little tap, encouraging it to open up by itself to reveal another hot summer room. The bathroom was covered in brown and golden orange tiles made white by the sun that was trying to beam its way through another large window. The bathroom had two golden brown sinks on either side of it with crisp little white towels hanging on the sides folded neatly enough to make me feel welcome. Little white shelves offered flower scented shower gels and soaps especially for us. I strolled inside, gently pushing the door shut behind me and reached up to take a plastic bottle with pink liquid in it. It was then when I noticed that the window wasn't really as much a window at it was an open door, one of those doors that acted as wooden blinds when you closed it. I almost wanted to reassure the beach that I would see it soon as I closed it and hung up my bathrobe on it.

I was on my own now, left to my own devices. I had two options: step into the shower in the corner behind me or step into the large round white bath tub in front of me, large enough for two people. It was gleaming white, almost begging me to step in like the sea and the sand outside. I couldn't help but smirk. I'd save it for later tonight when both Mike and I were awake.

I sighed to myself as I let my dress drop off and flop onto the floor underneath me. With that, I was finally able to unhook my bra and let it fall to the ground with it. It was a feeling I was almost too familiar with, simply taking my bra off but something about taking it off here felt all the more satisfying. I felt free.

As I stepped in the shower, I could tell that it was going to be a good one. Something about this little hut made little things like changing clothes and taking a shower all the more special. Why we hadn't spent the good part of our million dollars on a little house like this? Well maybe, I thought as I turned on the water, we could spend it on a holiday home to visit regularly. Yes, that would be a nice idea. We hadn't brought that much with our money. We would definitely have enough to buy a house like this.

I shut my eyes and thrust my head back, letting the cool water wash away any doubts I could possibly have. Squeezing the shower gel onto my hand I started rubbing the summer berry scent all over my body, letting the water wash it out, run through my hair. Absolute bliss.

As I squeezed more shower gel onto my hand and began rubbing it on my stomach, a little thought suddenly crossed my mind. How long had it been since my last-? I looked over at the shelves over the sink. Were there any . . . ? No. I shook my head quickly and let the shower water wash away those little thoughts. I had heard before that some couples could have sex without any precautions whatsoever and completely get away with it if they got the timing right. I wouldn't have started it last night if I hadn't felt it was the right time. I rubbed the pink shower gel over my stomach, over my whole body and exposed it to the shower water so it could rinse it all away down the drain. I'd be fine.

I stood there a while, letting the shower do all the work for me, only moving once in a while to rub my hands over my face, brushing down my hair to expose it more to the cool water. I could feel my makeup from last night trickling off, down my body and down the drain again, but I didn't mind. It almost felt like the rushing waters were shaping me into a new person. I let my head drop down and rubbed my hands together. The diamond ring on my finger slid around. I suddenly opened my eyes and quickly turned off the water. It was still there on my finger, not dangerously close to slipping off but I felt a sigh of relief that it had crossed my mind only now. It reminded me that as sweet and perfect this new marriage was, I would still have some responsibility about me.

I stepped out the shower and reached out for one of the snow white towels waiting for me on the sink. As I began to dry myself off, I heard the sheets over in the bedroom crumbling and the bed creaking. Mike was getting up. I rubbed the towel through my hair and reached over to put my bathrobe on. As I folded it over, it was just as I had expected- it was on the short side. But it still covered me up enough. It made me smile a little at just how paranoid I was being, paranoid over these silly little things. I bent down to pick up my dress and bra and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was still damp and my makeup had run off completely. Not that I minded- Mike had seen me plenty of times without my makeup and still found a way to dish out the compliments about how beautiful I looked. But something about my reflection made me stop where I was. Nothing had changed about me since last time I had looked in a mirror. My hair was still that luminous red colour, my skin was still nice and smooth, no spots (thank God). And I was especially grateful to see that I hadn't put on any weight. What was it then about my reflection that had caught my attention? Was it that my face had matured that little bit? I just didn't look like a teenager anymore, even though I looked exactly the same. Even then, I didn't feel like a teenager. I felt like a newly formed woman.

The door next to me suddenly opened, making me yelp. Before I could even jump, Mike caught my by the waist in both hands and pulled me towards him.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you." He brought his hands to my face to squeeze in the reassurement that it was just him. He was wearing a newly bought bathrobe too, a black one that complimented mine perfectly. That was just like my husband to buy outfits that complimented mine in a way to convince everyone that we were the perfect couple and we couldn't get any better than this.

"Sorry," I chuckled back, reaching up with my hands to rub his shoulders. "I'm just being silly. I should really be in the kitchen."

He chuckle back, a weak little chuckle. It made me lower my eyebrows a little.

"Are you alri-" Before I could finish, he shushed me off, bringing a tender finger to my lips. I stared it for a moment then looked up at him. There was definitely something on his mind but it was something that he didn't want to tell me just yet. I took his long finger and gave it a quick kiss before pulling him down and giving him the same quick peck on the lips.

"So what are we gonna do today?" I asked as I pulled away slowly. He responded with another little chuckle before kissing me right back.

"Well it's just the two of us . . . I guess we can do what we like."

I giggled and kissed him again. "I guess you're right." It made us both chuckle, properly this time. It allowed me to slowly pull away and leave him in the bathroom to have his shower.

"Zoey, watch-"

I had noticed that the bathroom door was a little bit on the short side for someone tall like Mike but he had to remind me to duck anyway. I sighed a little, not sure whether to feel amused, touched or irritated as I spun around on the tiles to turn and face him.

"Aren't you just my hero?"

He responded with a shrug playful enough to match my teasing tone. "Just doing what I can to keep my favourite girl happy."

I raised my eyes to the hut ceiling with another sigh, an exaggerated one. "You always have to go out of your way, don't you?"

He laughed as if he knew that he could get a bit much for himself too. Shaking my head to myself, I made my way down to the kitchen with a ridiculously amused little grin on my face. I didn't even know why I was going to the kitchen. We hadn't bought any food yet. I didn't know why I was expecting food to be inside. But the optimistic romantic part of me remained hopeful. I licked my lips in anticipation as I reached the fridge and heaved open the door.

"YES!"

Someone had been kind enough to leave a jug of orange juice which I could tell had been freshly squeezed just for us. Beside that was a large bowl of colourful fruits: bananas, kiwis, a couple of shiny red apples and one large pineapple. I could feel my smile stretching out to my cheeks as I reached out to take the jug handle in one hand and an apple in the other. Immediately I brought it to my mouth to take a bite. It was sweet and juicy just like any other apple but it had that perfect crunch to it, the crunch that immediately left a person satisfied with each bite. I let out a blissful little groan as I crunched away the first juicy mouthful. Oh how I loved fruit.

I suddenly noticed how the counter in front of me had little shelves with wine glasses provided and immediately put the jug down so I could bent down and take one. I knew that orange juice didn't necessarily go in a tall fancy wine glass but there was no one here to scold me for being silly or lazy. This whole honeymoon was the best treat ever. I could do what I liked and no one would snap at me for it. It made me feel like a wonderful little rebel as I filled the whole wine glass up with orange juice and took a sip. Ahhh, it tasted better than ever.

With a chilled light perfect little breakfast in both hands, I just had to hurry over to the front door and open it up so I could step outside into the sunlight. Oh that sun. I hadn't felt heat this good since I'd first begun Total Drama. I still couldn't believe I could stand out here on this paradise island completely undisturbed with only my husband to provide me with all the company I needed. It almost made me feel spoiled, like everything was too perfect. But since when was there such thing as too perfect?

As I walked down the dock and onto the silk white sand, the warmth of it underneath my feet nearly made it jump. But a quick sip of cool orange juice was enough to calm me down and really let my feet sink into the hot powdery feel of it. I kicked my right foot through it and the sand flickered everywhere, picking up the golden sunlight, shimmering like glitter. I watched it fade away into the distance and stepped out a little more. The sun was beaming down on my face like it wanted me to be in its own little spotlight but the waves in the distance seemed to be offering their own little gusts of fresh air to keep me cool. Another bite of the apple kept me just the right level of perfectly hot. Everything nice and perfect.

Even though I was outside, my right ear still picked up the sound of rushing water in the distance suddenly stop. Hearing it spread a grin across my face. Mike was gonna dry off and then he would make sure that I was all his for the day. I couldn't wait.

I was just halfway through the orange juice and decided I might as well finish it off before I spilled anything. I tipped it all down my throat and felt a blast of cold rush throughout my body, making my shiver. But in a good way. That sort of cold you need to stop yourself from overheating. Just perfect.

My two ears suddenly picked up the sound of crashing coming from the bathroom, immediately followed by an "OW!". This time I jumped. The wine glass almost slipped out my hand but I just saved it, keeping it dangling over my fingers.

"Mike?"

I didn't hear him respond. It send a chill down my spine, one that made me stiffen in fear.

"Mike!"

When he still didn't respond, I had to snap and run inside into the kitchen and over to the bathroom when I remembered I still had my hands full. As I whipped back around to put the apple and wine glass down on the nearby counter, I heard him blurt out a frustrated "Shit!"

Oh God. He only curses like that when something's really wrong. I clutched onto my bathrobe to keep it from slipping open as I ran as quickly and as cautiously as I could over to the bathroom. He was leaning over the bathtub, clinging onto the rim of it with one hand like he wanted to tear it off, clutching onto his forehead with the other. His eyes were scrunched up, his teeth gritted in pain.

"Mike!" I immediately bent down, trying to grab him somewhere to try and help him up. He was holding onto the bathtub so tight that I couldn't take his arm or anything. It was then when I tried to take his arm when I realized he was shaking. Gasping desperately for breath even though he had taken a shower and not a bath. I brought my hand to his forehead. It was too cold even for a cool shower.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't respond. He just made a painful little groan, bringing his shaky hand from his forehead to the bathtub as well. It was almost as if he was clinging on for life.

 _"Mike!"_ My voice cracked and I didn't know why. I tried to force my arm under his so I could pull him up somehow. I knew I was well able to carry him when I had to but he had somehow managed to glue himself to that bathtub. "Get up!"

He finally stopped. He took in one last deep breath before completely relaxing. I waited for him to do something, say something. He brought his hand to his head again and opened his eye where he hadn't hit his head. The other one stayed shut tight.

"Mike, please get up!" I went to take his arm again but he shoved it away, harsh enough that I backed away. He finally brought his hand away and slowly climbed to his feet. Something about the way he stood up . . . It looked delicate. Too shaky for him. He rubbed his backside. His eye remained shut tight.

Wait. I stiffened on the spot. No. He couldn't. Please no.

I clasped my hands over my mouth, almost afraid to hear what he would do or say next. He was just hurt. He clearly hit his head off the door frame over him and hit his back or something when he fell. The shock of it just put him in a bad mood. There's no way-

"You darn kids can't build nothin' right these days? You're gonna get an auld one killed!"

No. I know that voice. That cranky crabby old man voice. His open eye glared at me as he stomped slowly out, rubbing his back with each stiff rigid little step.

I can feel the cold shock of it all running to my throat. The disbelief is coming to me all in a cold sweat. I really thought . . . He's playing with me, right? There's no way. It has to be a joke. He's told me so many times he's gotten over it. He just misses them.

I shook my head and tried to force my lips into a cold smile. I gingerly followed him, having to drag my feet along more that he did. He was heading for the kitchen. He just needed a good breakfast.

"What do you want for breakfast, Mike?"

He paused there. And then he looked right back at me with that one angry eye, the puckered up irritable lips. My hand quickly grabbed my bathrobe and brought it over my chest for some reason.

"And you youngsters complain that we can't remember the names! My name's Chester!"

With that, he turned back around and began strolling over to the fridge, murmuring something to himself, leaving me standing alone in the corridor. The horror was boiling in my throat to form one hard lump that would not be swallowed down. I felt my legs underneath me begin to tremble with it all. I was about to collapse over like my husband before me.

"Mike . . ."

"My name's Chester!"

I had to bring my hand over to my mouth to keep myself from breaking down in front of him. I made a dive for the bed we had slept together on last night, landing on the soft crumpled sheets just as my legs gave way. The bed creaked with me as I grabbed the nearest pillow and buried my face into it. And I let it all out in one uncontrollable sob. A sob that washed out the luscious smells around me and screamed over the crashing waves. The hut was filled with my sobbing and angry muttering in the background that neither of us could control.

* * *

 **And there we go. Just as everything was going so well . . . poor poor Mike and Zoey.**

 **Yeah, that was quite a short one, but this is the chapter that should get the story going so if we can get some good reviews out there, I might be able to keep this one going once I get my exams finished next week.**

 **Anyway I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **See you guys soon.**


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